


Unlike The Cats

by TeddyBearDoctors



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Panic Attacks, Social Anxiety, Soul Bond, soul binding spell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 00:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18354929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddyBearDoctors/pseuds/TeddyBearDoctors
Summary: Quentin tries to cast a soulbinding spell and accidentally binds himself to Eliot





	Unlike The Cats

Quentin sat on his bedroom floor, lights on and room smelling much like catnip. Keeping the cats happy was the key to keeping them still long enough for him to perform the spell. The cats lay on the ground before him, pupils wide and stomachs up, purring at him, begging for attention. Quentin almost gives in but he knows if he pets one then they’ll both start moving and it’s just easier to do this without his subjects walking all over him, so Quentin starts in on the spell. He lets the words fall clumsily from his lips as he focuses completely on his finger work, trying to get it perfect.

As his fingers finish the last movement and he ends the spell with a spit of Latin Quentin feels electricity run up his spine and burn the back of his head. He flinches, drawing his arms in on himself but it fades just as quickly as it comes and Quentin is left staring at the unphased cats. He sighs to himself and gets to his feet, knowing he must have failed somehow and hoping it’s not gonna be monumentally terrible for himself. Or anyone else. He shoos the cats from his room and tosses the book onto his bed, maybe he’ll try again another time.

Another spell failed, nothing new and Quentin forgets all about it, moving on to new things and different spells and his mountains of homework. He usually lets his failures sit on his shoulders like the weight of the world but when it comes to school Quentin has learned that one failed problem doesn’t equal a failed test and he’ll have plenty of time to try again. He’s actually looking over a test he did decent on when Eliot arrives, making himself comfortable on the couch beside Quentin.

“Studying?” Eliot asks, leaning close and casting a glance at the paper that has Quentin’s attention.

“A little, ya.” Quentin replies, brushing his bangs behind his ear and glancing at Eliot briefly.

“Margo and I are taking you out instead.” Eliot grins, taking the paper from Quentin’s hand and tossing it behind the couch.

“Eliot!” Quentin objects but the taller man places a long finger over Quentin’s lips, effectively shutting him up.

“I’ve had an interesting day, you look stressed, Margo needs to get laid. We’re going out.”

So they go out.

\--

They go to a bar in LA, using one of the magic doors they spelled up out of thin air. It’s loud, music pounding in Quentin’s bones, lights flashing bright colors and smoke filling the floor. Quentin didn’t think places like this existed anymore but then again he isn’t one to go out, never was. Eliot takes Quentin’s hand and leads him through the crowd, bodies moving to the music, sweaty and smelling thick with smoke and sex. Quentin grips Eliot tight, anxiety snaking through him and settling sick and heavy in his stomach. Fear rises up in his throat and he wants to yank Eliot closer and beg him to take him back to the cottage, remind him that he can’t do things like this, but the fear is in his throat and cuts off his words and he just lets himself be pulled around like the follower he is.

Eliot doesn’t let go of his hand once they reach the bar, pulling Quentin in close and leaning in so his lips almost touch his ear.

“Preference?”

Quentin shakes his head, still not able to find his voice. Eliot smiles, quick and warm, before turning to wave down the bartender and ordering drinks that Quentin can’t hear. He thinks that you must develop an ear for places like this, a stronger sense of hearing, because Eliot is chatting up the bartender and Margo is telling Eliot something and Quentin can’t hear anything beyond the pounding music. He’s gonna get one hell of a headache.

Eliot turns to hand Quentin a drink, something with a cherry in it, and Quentin takes it with the hand not currently gripping Eliot’s like a lifeline. Eliot has something clear with an olive in it and Quentin doesn’t even want to guess what frothy thing Margo is sipping but he guesses it’s her own recipe. Eliot then leads Quentin, following Margo, further into the room where they happen to find a table and Quentin isn’t sure how it’s empty when the place is more crowded then any room he’s ever been in.

Quentin sits with Margo and Eliot stands, still holding Quentin’s hand and the anxiety is so suffocating that Quentin doesn’t question it. He’s too anxious to drink and Eliot notices, leaning back in and Quentin can feel his breath on his jaw when he talks.

“Relax, Q, it’s more fun that way.” He offers this dazzling smile that loosens the knot in his chest enough for him to stop cutting circulation off to Eliot’s hand, but he still doesn’t let go.

Margo leans into the table and starts talking, Quentin manages to make out ‘dancing’ and ‘so many cute girls’ a wink ‘and cute boys’. And then she’s gone with a flick of dark hair and a lipstick smile. Eliot says something to her before she goes and Quentin really wishes he had this magical hearing they seem to have; he briefly wonders if they used to spell but he knows Eliot would have used it on him as well if they had.

Eliot squeezes Quentin’s hand before letting go, seemingly reluctantly, and taking Margo’s now vacant seat. They both lean in and Quentin feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up at how close Eliot is, if he leaned in just an inch more he could press his lips to Eliot’s, taste alcohol on his tongue, place his thumb on his pulse point and feel his heart rate quicken. Quentin feels himself blush at the thought but the club is dark, save for the flashing lights, so Eliot must not notice for he doesn’t quickly jump to tease him like Quentin knows he would.

“Drink, Q, have fun.” Eliot encourages. “Please?” he adds and the anxiety dulls just a bit in favor of pleasing Eliot.

Quentin takes a large sip of his drink and feels the alcohol settle warm in his stomach. Eliot smiles and Quentin smiles back and there is this moment, this spark, it feels like magic is flowing between them like a string, a connection. Eliot’s smile changes to something curious before Quentin looks away, flushing pink.

Quentin looks over to the dance floor and sees Margo dancing with a girl, bodies pressed close together and moving to the music, as if they are one person, one fluid movement. Quentin feels envious for a moment, sick green burning in his gut, he’s never been that easy going, he’s never been able to just flow as if he doesn’t care about anything happening. Anxiety, fear, embarrassment has followed Quentin around like a shadow his whole life, chains on his ankles keeping him on the sidelines, fumbling clumsily through life.

Quentin never really got used to that, he’s always looked at people like Julia and Margo with a sense of jealousy, always wondering why it was so easy for them and so so difficult for him. He can’t just jump head first into a moment, something, himself, is always holding him back. So he watches and his depression gets a little deeper and he just keeps asking himself why he’s like this and they aren’t.

Logically he knows why, all his medications and trips to the hospital have told him why but that doesn’t stop him from asking because it’s not fair. It’s not fair that Quentin gets panic attacks doing the things they can do without second thought, it’s not fair that he’s always going to be stuck the way he is and they can change and flow and be however they want to be.

It’s not fair.

Quentin looks back at the table and tries not to feel so down, tries not to let Eliot see how this trip is upsetting him, but he fails so he grasps desperately for something to say.

“You said your day was interesting?” Eliot looks surprised by Quentin’s question before they both lean in to better hear each other.

“I was with Margo, walking back to the cottage this afternoon, when I got a shock of magic through my entire body.”

Quentin’s heart pounds, his stomach twists in knots, and his throat closes up. That sounds like what happened to him. Could he have put a spell on Eliot by mistake? Shit!

“Are you okay?” Quentin asks, voice strained.

“Ya, it passed as quickly as it came. Probably just a spike in magic in the area.”

“Ya, probably…” Quentin can’t look at Eliot but he also can’t seem to look away, drawn to Eliot like he always is.

They sit for a moment and then Eliot reaches across the table and takes his hand, making Quentin look up and finding Eliot once again very close.

“Dance with me.”

It’s not a question so Quentin doesn’t reply, not even sure he can as fear and panic quickly climb up his throat and cut off his air supply. Eliot is pulling him to the dance floor, towards the crowd that Quentin wants to be as far away from as he can, and anxiety is ripping him apart, panic building and building and he can’t breath or think. His chest is tight with fear, magic sparking at his fingertips, he feels his stomach churning and he knows he has to get out of there. It’s not been fight or flight in situations like this, maybe in a place Quentin knows but not this, his only option is to flee.

He tries to pull away from Eliot but the man keeps pulling him in, unaware of the panic attack quickly building in Quentin’s body.

And then it all stops, sudden. Quentin is pulled tight against Eliot, warm in his embrace unlike everyone else around them and Quentin focuses hard on the feel of Eliot’s hands on his lower back and hips, the smell that clings to his clothes that has become so familiar. Quentin presses into Eliot’s chest, his hands trapped between them, his eyes squeezed shut, trying so hard to focus and relax and block out everything but them. And it shouldn’t work, years of people hugging him mid panic attack has taught Quentin that this shouldn’t work, but it does and Quentin lets himself believe that it’s because it’s Eliot.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there but eventually he calms down, his breathing evens out and the panic subsides. Quentin wiggles his hands out of Eliot’s embrace and finds his arms moving to his shoulders, looking at Eliot and finding a gentle and warm expression on his face. It feels right being this close to Eliot, being in his arms, and Quentin let’s it happen. He doesn’t pull away, or question any of it, for once in his life he’s desperate to just let something happen without picking it apart.  

Eliot moves both his hands to Quentin’s hips and yanks him in closer since Quentin moved away to release his arms. He gasps, feeling that same tingling, burning, electric spark between them. It fills the air around them, a bubble of magic encasing them together, nothing has ever felt like this before and Quentin wants so badly to know what it is and he’s sure Eliot does too but they don’t speak, they just look at each other and start to sway to the much faster music. They must look like fools to everyone else, bodies being tossed around by the sound around them, fast and heavy, while they sway and smile and ignore the world like it doesn’t exist.

Quentin feels at peace, safe, loved even. He doesn't understand it, what’s making them act this way, what is making this feeling so strong? He knows he’s crushing on Eliot, has been since the moment they met, but this is so much more intense, heightened, the feeling of being in love, the feeling you get when you hold the love of your life and know you’ll never feel this way again, only Quentin didn’t have this feeling with Eliot yesterday, he didn’t feel this desperate and calm just by touching him, he didn’t feel like Eliot felt the same way. Until tonight, this moment, holding each other and just gazing like nothing they said could possibly do this moment justice. And maybe they can’t, maybe Quentin trying to fumble for his feelings would mess things up, would make Eliot pull away and take with him this warm and safe bubble that Quentin is so desperate to hold on to.

His eyes roam over Eliot’s face, over his dark hair and deep eyes, his noble nose and such perfect lips. Quentin feels a pull in his chest, a need to kiss Eliot, to be closer, but he resists. He can’t lose Eliot and whatever is happening is a fluke, a comfort tactic...right? Quentin pushes away his thoughts the best he can and focuses on Eliot’s hands on his body, his eyes on his face, the warmth radiating from him.

“Eliot?” Quentin doesn’t mean to speak but he does, unsure and suddenly nervous. Always nervous.

Eliot seems to come to, blinking and quickly letting his hands drop from his waist. Quentin follows suit, blushing hard and the need to escape is back. Eliot tries to smile but he seems unsure, a look Quentin has never seen on the other boy’s face. It’s awkward, neither of them seems to understand what just happened.

“Um, thanks, for…” Quentin tries but now that they aren’t a breath apart he isn’t sure Eliot can hear him. He backs away and makes a gesture to the door, Eliot nods and Quentin leaves him on the dance floor.

The air outside is warm, spring in New York never was anything but cold or windy. LA is warm and even though the sun is gone it’s still warm and the air clings to Quentin’s skin like thick fog. He looks around and sighs, he can’t go home because he doesn’t know how to summon the door that Margo and Eliot made, and he doesn’t look like there is anywhere safe to hide around here. Just more bars, more clubs, more people and places that Quentin would rather avoid.

He hopes Eliot will follow him, decide he would like to go home too. But he also knows that Eliot is just as confused about what happened as he is and he also knows that Eliot will most likely avoid the situation (and Quentin) until it blows over. He leans against the club wall a little bit aways from the door, watching people enter and exit buildings, drunk and laughing, tripping over their friends and clinging to their partners. It makes Quentin feel cold despite the warm air, cold deep in his bones, and he stops watching.

\--

Quentin tries to avoid Eliot but he always feels overcome with the need to be around him, the need to touch him, more so than usual. He’s having  a hard time ignoring his desires, a hard time even noticing that he’s failed. He thinks about Eliot all the time, finds him without realizing that he’s even looking for him. He touches Eliot a lot now, sitting too close together, thighs touching, he holds his hand without thought, he runs his fingers down Eliot’s arm when he passes him. It all seems rather innocent and Eliot doesn’t seem to mind, if anything he’s been doing the same things.

Eliot will pull Quentin closer at every chance, run fingers through his hair, cup his face as they talk. It all seems so harmless, so why does it terrify Quentin? He feels out of control, harmlessly maybe, but still not himself. He should be able to control himself, to keep his hands to himself, to be able to look away from Eliot, to think about anything else, but he can’t. It’s like someone hacked his brain and replaced every thought with Eliot and he can’t focus on anything else. He feels desperate when Eliot isn’t around, he feels his skin itch to touch the second he sees him, he finds he can’t sleep alone anymore either, thinking about Eliot well into the night and wishing he was there beside him.

He tries to hide it, to pretend he feels fine but even Quentin isn’t stupid, he knows something is wrong. It isn’t until Margo confronts him though that Quentin realizes exactly how he screwed up that spell.

“You did what?” Margo asks, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at Quentin, who feels much like a child who stole from the cookie jar and got caught red handed.

“I did a soul binding spell, but I did it on cats! Not me and Eliot!” Quentin knows he sounds defensive and frantic but he can’t help it, that’s exactly how he feels. “I swear!”

“Show me the spell.” Margo doesn’t phrase it like a request but rather a demand and Quentin leads her to his room where the book now sits on his desk.

Margo’s face goes carefully blank the second she sees the spell and Quentin feels his anxiety building up in his legs, unable to stand still he starts fidgeting behind her. She turns to face him and she looks almost peaceful, no more anger bubbling beneath the surface.

“Q, you’re an idiot.” She sounds like she wants to laugh, like this entire week is one colossal joke on Quentin that she just got let in on.  

“I know I messed up but if you could just tell me how to fix it…” He rambles and Margo puts up a hand to silence him.

“This isn’t just a soul binding spell, it never would have worked on those cats.” She explains and Quentin listens with rapt attention, fear building in his gut. “It’s a soul binding spell for _soulmates_. It only works if you’re in love. You can’t cast it on just anyone.”

“So I accidentally cursed Eliot to fall in love with me?!” Quentin feels sick, anxiety about to explode and send him into a full blown panic attack. Eliot will never forgive him, he’ll lose everything even if there is a way to reverse the spell, nothing will ever be the same and Quentin can’t lose Eliot. He must look like he’s about to faint because Margo guides him to sit on the bed and does her best to instruct him to calm down but Margo doesn’t really know what she’s doing.

“You’re missing the point, Quentin.” She sighs and closes the book, setting it aside and putting all her attention on Quentin.

He can’t breath but he tries, tries to focus on Margo and her strong voice.

“It only works if you’re _both_ in love. It just boosts the connection.” She explains it so simply but Quentin still can’t grasp it, feeling like he’s spinning. “Didn’t you read the spell before casting it?”

He did, sorta. He should have, but he just skimmed it, he didn’t think it could have been harmful or that it would affect anyone but himself if it went wrong.

“Q, calm down.” Margo takes his hand and squeezes, giving him something to ground him. He focuses on the heat and the pressure of her hand and eventually the world comes back to him, Margo in focus beside him.

“How do I fix this?” Quentin asks, desperate to fix whatever relationship he can still have with Eliot.

“There isn’t anything that needs fixing, you connected your soul to Eliot, big deal. Enjoy it. I’m pretty sure it’s all temporary...probably.” She smiles at Q and ruffles his hair before leaving him alone to his thoughts.

What just happened?

\--

Quentin finds Eliot without looking for him again, he just knows somehow that he’s in the library in the potions section. He watches Eliot for a moment, watches how his eyes quickly jump over the pages, looking for something, how is long fingers deftly turn pages and pick up new books. He watches Eliot bite at his lip and shuffle in front of the shelf. And he sighs, a little dreamily, his body thrumming with the comfort from being in Eliot’s presence.

Eliot seems to realize that Quentin is there, turning to look at him and smiling instantly. They both close the distance quickly, standing too close together and Quentin feels like he’s more relaxed in this moment then he’s been all day, maybe even all week. He almost doesn’t want the spell to ware off, doesn’t want this feeling to go away, he’s never felt like this before. It’s so intense, this deep desire to just be near Eliot, to feel his heat and smell his scent and hear his breathing. It’s like his body only feels comfort, relaxed, safe, when Eliot is near, and when he isn’t it’s like Quentin is on alert just waiting to spot him. It would be stressful if it didn’t all lead up to moments like this, just being together and feeling like the world could end and it wouldn’t matter, like he’s unlocked the meaning of life or something.

Quentin is really glad this spell doesn’t include mind reading.

“What are you looking for, maybe I can help?” Quentin offers and Eliot averts his gaze, unable to look at Quentin. Quentin flushes with shame, taking a step back and looking at his hands.

“I’m sorry, El,” Quentin starts and he feels Eliot looking at him. “I didn’t mean to cast a spell on you, I swear it was an accident, but Margo says it should wear off soon.” He glances up at Eliot and sees relief in the other man’s eyes and the rejection hits Quentin like a punch to the gut. “I’m just gonna…” He turns to leave and feels Eliot watching him as he walks away.

He didn’t expect the rejection to hurt as much as it did, he didn’t expect it to claw underneath his skin and settle cold in his bones. He didn’t expect to feel like someone gutted him and left him to bleed out on the floor. He tells himself it’s just the spell, that once it wears off he won’t feel so broken open, so used and destroyed like a crumpled up piece of paper tossed to the side forever unwanted. He tells himself that once the spells wears off everything will go back to normal but Quentin isn’t dumb and he knows that Margo was right and that the spell wouldn’t have worked if he wasn’t already in love with Eliot, he knows this feeling won’t go away just because the spell does.

Quentin pointedly ignores the part of the spell that Margo insisted needed them both to be in love because Quentin isn’t dumb and he knows that Eliot would never be in love with him, would never choose someone like him. Margo must be wrong, or the spell must be wrong, something must be wrong because that can’t possibly be the truth. And Quentin tells himself all these things and more all day to keep himself from breaking down, to keep himself focused on school and not Eliot. He doesn’t go looking for Eliot, he goes to class and he goes to his room, and he keeps himself focused and he does his best to ignore the ugly knots in his stomach and the itch under his skin that’s desperate for Eliot.

\--

The spell wears off three days later, making it a full two weeks of living under the spell. Quentin feels stretched thin, his body having spent days aching and crying out for Eliot and it only got harder and harder to resist the urge to go search for him, to just be near him. Quentin often wondered if Eliot felt the same, if he was cursing Quentin for making him feel this way. Maybe it wasn’t so bad for Eliot because he didn’t have the added factor of being in love from the beginning, of already wanting to always be around him, to dream about him, to maybe let himself hope.

Quentin is grateful that the spell has worn off and ventures out of his room, no longer feeling like a love sick puppy looking for its owner. Except he still feels exactly like that, feelings out in the open for everyone to laugh at, hoping desperately that Eliot isn’t mad at him, that maybe everything can just go back to normal.

Quentin hears Eliot before he sees him, talking to someone in the kitchen and Quentin slows down to listen.

“No, the potion didn’t help. I’m still exhausted. I didn’t sleep at all these two weeks, I couldn’t fall asleep, felt like someone was missing.” He sounds pained and Quentin gets hit with a flood of guilt.

Quentin also understands how Eliot must feel though, it took hours and hours for Quentin to fall asleep, always feeling like he was waiting for someone, like Eliot had been sleeping beside him for 40 years and suddenly was gone. He felt pathetic and silly and exhausted.

Margo promises to make Eliot the strongest coffee there is, she just needs to get something from a friend first. She leaves the cottage with determined footsteps, the licking of her heels on the wood sounding through the room before the creak of the door as it opens and closes. Quentin stands in the hallway for a little longer, not wanting to look like he was eavesdropping, before he braves the kitchen in search of breakfast.

It was hard to eat the last few days, anxiety upsetting his stomach and his desperation to avoid Eliot set him on edge whenever he was in a public place. Quentin spent most of his time in his room, focusing hard on school work when he wasn’t in class or asleep. Being faced with Eliot feels like a shock to his system, like his entire body comes to life and his brain stops working and he feels panic start to build up in his chest.

Eliot looks at him and smiles shyly, like he isn’t sure how to approach this either but he isn’t mad, if he was mad he wouldn’t still be in this room and he definitely wouldn’t be smiling. So the panic dissolves into mild anxiety and Quentin can work with that. He makes toast in silence and then sits beside Eliot without thinking, cursing himself the second he does. He can’t move now, he’s stuck in this silent and awkward situation until Margo comes back and fixes everything like only she can.

Quentin munches on his toast, looking at the wall and pointedly not Eliot. It’s too quiet and Eliot fidgets in his seat and Quentin glances at him, finding an exhausted Eliot looking at the table like he’s going to pass out at any second. And that’s when Quentin realizes that maybe it was worse for Eliot, because he didn’t already have to get used to avoiding feelings he didn’t know how to deal with and urges he couldn’t act on, so it looks like it hit him worse. And Quentin feels sickeningly guilty. He wants to cry, he wants to just fix everything, but he doesn’t know how and he doesn’t even know how Eliot is feeling.

“El,” Quentin tries but he doesn’t know what to say next so Eliot is looking at him, expecting him to speak, but nothing comes out and his mouth dries up and the words get stuck and he starts to panic. He shoves the plate of toast in front of Eliot and the magician just looks at it for a moment before he picks up a piece and starts to eat it just as slowly as Quentin did.

They both look hungover, magically hangover maybe, and beaten down and exhausted and hungry and so very alone. They look like they were in a battle but all they were doing was fighting with themselves and Quentin can’t shake off the guilt and he can’t fix it and he can’t make Eliot feel better. Toast is as good as he can do, toast and giving Eliot as much space as he needs. Even if that space means they’re no longer friends.

Quentin hangs his head and his appetite vanishes, he just soaks in his guilt listening to Eliot slowly eat his toast. Neither of them seem to know what to say, how to act around each other, and Quentin still so desperately wants to reach out and offer physical comfort. To run his fingers through Eliot’s hair, to rub his back, to help him sleep, but he knows that will only make things worse so he keeps his hands to himself and waits for the inevitable fall out.

Only the fall out never comes. Eliot finishes eating, Margo returns and makes him coffee that wakes him right up. They talk, well mostly Margo talks, and then class and studying with Alice and drinking with Margo and Eliot and things seem to go back to normal. From the outside. But Quentin notices how Eliot won’t look him in the eye, how he avoids touching him at all costs, how they barely speak unless they have to, how tension hangs between them like an iron curtain.

Quentin can’t shake the guilt and he can’t talk to Eliot and he _can’t fix this_. He so badly wants to fix this, for everything to go back to normal. But how do you just go back to how things were? He can’t even blame Eliot, how can you just go back after finding out your friend is in love with you? After finding out he cast a spell on you to make you love him too? It was on accident but still…

It’s four days later and everything has gone back to normal except for his relationship with Eliot, that is growing thinner and more strained everyday. And Quentin feels like the more he loses Eliot the darker everything else gets. He’s not gonna spiral into a deep depression over a boy, except that he does a little. He still showers, goes to class, talks with his friends, but there is this aching loss that sits heavy in his chest at all times. He can’t shake the guilt and he can’t get rid of the obvious hole in his heart where Eliot used to be. He still feels gutted, like someone stole a piece of him and it’s just gone, forever, a phantom pain and a lingering ache that just won’t go away.

And Quentin knows this feeling, he’s lost friends and loves, he’s had his heart broken and he’s had people walk out of his life without looking back. But this is different, this is Eliot, and Quentin doesn’t know how to let go. So he clings to the loss, holds tight to the loneliness, and hopes Eliot will come back around.

\--

Quentin is sitting in the main area of the cottage, Fillory and Further in his lap unopened, a silent form of comfort. Quentin isn’t the best at coping, anyone can tell you that Quentin tends to self destruct instead of coping. He sleeps with the worst people he could sleep with, he pulls all nighters, he throws his entire self into his projects, he smokes, he doesn’t cope. His only way of coping is this book, so Quentin starts carrying it around like a child, not reading it just holding it, and it helps keep him grounded. He feels silly but no one questions him, everyone that matters knows how he feels about this book, and those who don’t tend to leave Quentin alone anyway.

He’s looking through his notes for his quiz next week when someone carefully sits beside him. Quentin glances up and finds Eliot, sitting stiff and unsure beside him. Quentin is instantly unfocused, forgetting all about his notes and instead grips his book tight and tries to breath.

“I miss you.” Eliot says, his voice almost inaudible.

Quentin stumbles over his voice trying to respond, never one to think before he speaks. “I miss you too.”

“So why are you avoiding me?” Eliot looks at Quentin and he sees the pain in his eyes, the hurt and the rejection and Quentin’s chest aches.

“I thought-” Quentin grips his book tighter, feeling the hardback cover dig into his skin. “I thought it was what you wanted.”

“Why would I want that?” The hurt in his gaze is quickly covered up with carefully crafted confusion.

“Because I-I put a spell on you!” Quentin cries, confused and anxious and Eliot looks so calm, always so careful to control himself.

“It was an accident, Q.” Quentin relaxes at the use of his nickname but he still feels drenched in guilt.

“That doesn’t matter, I made you feel things you didn’t want, I exhausted you and-and forced myself into your life and-and…” Quentin doesn’t know what to say, how to fix this, how to make Eliot understand how upset he is at himself. He flails, stumbles over his words, he feels like he can’t breath.

“You’re such an idiot.” Eliot mumbles, smiling sadly at him.

“What?”

“ _Forced_ yourself into my life?” Eliot looks like he wants to laugh, he looks flooded with relief and Quentin wishes he was in on the joke. He still feels anxiety bubbling up his throat and the need to word vomit all over Eliot in hopes that it will fix things, he almost wishes the spell was still in effect so his anxiety would fade away the second he saw Eliot.

“Well I’m glad you find this so funny.” Quentin looks away from Eliot, feeling like an idiot.

“Q,” Eliot cups Quentin’s face and urges him to look at him, smiling softly as their eyes meet. Quentin feels like he’s going to cry, like he can’t hold all the panic and fear and hope inside of him anymore. “I want you in my life, the spell wouldn’t have worked if I didn’t want it to.”

Quentin considers the words and he remembers what Margo said, what he had refused to believe. He remembers the club, the touching, the sparkle in Eliot’s eyes whenever they saw each other. Quentin wrote it all off as just the spell, that none of it was Eliot, but Eliot is sitting beside him telling him he’s wrong and Quentin doesn’t know what to say. He wants so badly to believe Eliot, to just accept everything he’s saying at face value, but Quentin can’t, he can’t not let the fear speak for him. His anxiety, insecurities, and fear, are all screaming at once.

“Then why did you pull away?” Quentin can feel the tears burning the back of his eyes and tries to pull away but Eliot doesn’t let go of his face.

“Because I was afraid. And when I’m afraid I run away.” Eliot looks pained by his confession and every voice in Quentin’s head goes silent. “I knew how I felt about you, and how you felt about me, but to actually have proof of both those things was...terrifying. So I ran and I hurt you and I’m _so_ sorry.” Eliot drops his hand from Quentin’s face and he feels cold without the contact.

“I-I ran away too.” Quentin admits, thinking about all the times he could have talked to Eliot about this but chose to avoid him instead, chose to hide in his room and not say a damn thing. “It was just...easier. I’m sorry too.” He feels pathetic saying it, his cheeks flushed and his stomach twisted in knots. A braver man would have solved this days ago, weeks really. But here they are, almost a month after the spell was cast and he still can’t get the words out of his throat.

“I kinda miss the spell, it made this so much easier.” Eliot admits, reaching for Quentin’s hand. They twine their fingers together and warmth fills Quentin’s chest.

“Practice will help with that.” Quentin smiles and Eliot smiles back.

And Quentin wants to kiss him so bad, he feels like he can now, they just about said it without actually saying it. He takes a shaky breath and pushes forward, lips connecting with Eliot’s briefly and he pulls away to find a soft look in Eliot’s eyes. Eliot cups the back of Quentin’s head, fingers in his hair, and pulls him back in. Their lips aren’t hesitant this time but rather deep and curious and Quentin never wants it to end.

His hands grip at the front of Eliot’s shirt, keeping him close as they kiss. Eliot tastes spicy, like alcohol and maybe magic, but it doesn’t matter to Quentin that Eliot tastes amazing, that his smell is intoxicating, that his breathing is heavy and that he keeps pulling away to breath but only for a second and then he’s pulling him back in. It doesn’t matter (don’t get him wrong, it’s better than a daydream, every second is absolutely perfect and Quentin is committing every sense and second to memory) all that matters is that Eliot feels the same way, that Eliot _wants_ him and that finally they can stop avoiding each other, and Quentin feels whole again.

They pull away, panting, lips swollen and pink and flushed to the tips of their ears. Eliot presses his forehead against Quentin’s and they both just breath each other in, eyes closed, heart pounding.

“I must be dreaming,” Quentin mumbles breathlessly and Eliot barks a surprised laugh.

“Dreams don’t feel this intense.” Eliot replies and Quentin doesn’t even need to see his face to know that Eliot is smiling.

He kisses him again, and again, and again.

And Eliot’s right, no dream he’s ever had has felt as real, intense, and entirely perfect as this moment does. For the first time in a long time Quentin has to admit that reality beats dreams by a long shot, and he’s absolutely thrilled by it.

“As much as I love this,” Eliot says, pulling away reluctantly and Quentin stares at him with unfocused eyes and a dreamy smile. “I want to do this right.”

“Right?” Quentin asks and Eliot _blushes!_

“I want to take you on a date, a real one, and _then_ I want to take you to bed.”

It’s the least descriptive way Eliot could have put that sentence and yet Quentin blushes like Eliot just described _exactly_ what they’re gonna do in that bed. They’re both blushing and smiling and Quentin can feel his heart in his throat so he just nods and nods and kisses Eliot hard enough to knock him backwards.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm awful at endings, but i hope you liked it anyway! Kudos and comments are always appreciated


End file.
